Sing it!

How am I to know, whether

the moon judges me or not for

the things I have left unfinished?

Looking down as I walk the street,

I search for answers in the

shadows she creates.

The cold air provokes my doubts…

The northern wind whisper in my ear,

- Finish the song that has been

drying upon your lips, and

when you’re done with it, sing it!

Sing it, and

I’ll carry your song to the moon!”